Thursday, 2 June 2016

Sun
kissed skin and salty strands of hair that twirl in the breeze of the boat
rides – those overflowing with eager tourists and seasick passengers attempting
to check every beach off of their must-see list.

Dancing on
tables sticky with champagne, singing until your lungs ache and your voice
croaks. The same playlist is on repeat - remixes you haven’t heard before, but
those that will remain reminders of a trip that won’t soon be forgotten.

Layered
hoodies and teeth that chatter when the day’s burning sun veils itself. The sky
darkens and the island appears little more than a single lit pinprick in a
surrounding sea. That pinprick can feel like an entire world.

Iced
coffee so intense it cures any lingering effects from the night before, but
gives your limbs a new reason to shake.

The
initial excitement of free shots following meals, and the growing nausea of the
sight as the week progresses.

Giving
up sleep for 6am strolls accompanied by pastel pink sunrises and still waters. It’s
a sight you soon give up trying to capture, a view that doesn’t deserve to be
seen through a screen.

A
constant melody of “do I have tan lines yet?” and “you’re looking a little red”
joined by the scent of sun cream as it’s massaged into muscles aching from
water sport days and firework nights.

Quad
bikes that speed through the sand, up to deserted lighthouses and down to rocky
beaches, all under the starlit blanket of a sky – one that belongs to both late
night and early morning.

People
with bandanas around their heads and tan lines around their arms, people you’ve
never met before and likely won’t meet again, but those who made an impact. You’ll
remember fellow travellers as well as you will the natives – the kind hearts
and determined demeanours, phoning every one of the limited taxis that
circulate the island for no benefit of their own.

Looking on
the bright side, because looking anywhere else would make little sense, or no sense at all.